It Doesn't Get Much Stranger Than This
by Radical.2
Summary: "You really like that cat, don't you?" "He's a fluffy little creature of superior cuteness and intellect," Hermione informed him. "I say he's a fluffy little creature that's plotting world domination as we sleep," Draco answered persistently. "Um...sure."
1. The Train

**Okay, I have this problem where I can never finish a story that I write. So I've decided to write this last attempt before- well, I won't quit writing for good, but it's really starting to annoy me how I can never finish it. So, of course, today I thought of this scheme. (By the way, sorry about the way-too-long author's note!)**

**I'm going to try one final time to write a nice, long story. It won't be perfect, but I know that without support- aka reviews- I'll probably quit, and I really don't want to.**

**So I guess I'll start writing now, and wish me luck, because I love writing to much to give it up.**

Hermione was there, feeling extremely out of place.

There she was, on the Hogwarts Express, her seventh year again.

And it was all going wrong, and she didn't know what to do.

"Excuse me," she muttered to Harry and Ron, who sat across from her in the compartment.

She got up and left, but they didn't even notice.

It was sad when even your best friends didn't notice these things.

Things like how you felt, or how you wanted them to ask you what was wrong.

But, of course, they didn't.

Hermione wore her mother's necklace around her neck, but it didn't fit.

It wasn't loose or choking her, but it was out of place on her.

Hard to explain, I guess.

She walked swiftly through the aisle, stopping by an area of empty compartments.

McGonagall hadn't yet chosen the prefects and head boy and girl.

It was like this place was haunted or something.

There was a door that she faced, open just a crack.

You could still hear the wind whistling past the train.

Hermione saw that they were passing over a bridge, over some river.

All she would have to do was jump.

Not really jump, but _fly_.

Fly down until she descended into the water and...

Whatever was supposed to happen next, I suppose.

"Having second thoughts, Granger?"

She turned her head slightly to see Malfoy leaning against a compartment door.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked tiredly.

Her face was like that of a ghost, her eyes still on the cracked open door.

He just stared at her blankly, his face looking paler than usual.

"Does it really matter what _I _want?" he asked.

Not really, she wanted to say.

But even she had her limits, though they were a bit low for someone like him.

Hermione just shrugged like it didn't really matter.

Maybe because it just didn't.

"You don't talk much anymore? Thank Merlin!"

Malfoy gave her a wry smile, almost like a sigh.

She crossed her arms, looking him in the eye.

It was like she wasn't affected at all by him.

She walked past him, brushing his shoulder as she went.

Hermione was about to head back to Harry and Ron when she paused.

Ignoring Malfoy's waching eyes, she opened up the crack in the door a bit more.

Nobody would really have to know.

But instead, she ripped her mother's necklace from her and threw it outside.

Hermione walked back then, back to Harry and Ron and everyone.

All the way she could feel him staring at her.

It was all so strange...


	2. The Choice

New students, thought Hermione, were starting to get annoying.

Why did it take so long to sort them all?

It wasn't like she was waiting for something.

Something like McGonagall announcing the head boy and girl.

It wasn't like she wanted to be head girl.

Okay, she did, but she had her reasons.

She was the smartest in her class, of course.

Lots of people- well, in Gryffindor- liked her.

She had even helped kill Voldemort a few months ago!

Wasn't that reason enough?

And then it was time, she assumed, as McGonagall stood up.

She made her way to the podium, her eyes seeing everything.

Admittedly, she hadn't chosen the head boy and girl yet.

Prefects had been easy, but the head boy and girl...

She still hadn't decided on the right pair for the job.

Ideally, it would have been Hermione and Harry.

But, of course, you couldn't have them both from one house.

The other staff would call her prejudiced.

McGonagall announced the prefects, which included Harry and Ron, and some other people too.

And then it wasn't just time. It was _the _time.

Hermione tightly shut her eyes, trying not to clench her fists in her crossed arms.

"Hermione Granger, of Gryffindor!" was announced. "Please stand!"

For a moment she wondered if this was a good idea.

Of course, the professors knew best, so she did stand.

There was scattered clapping throughout the room, mostly from Gryffindor.

Though even they weren't very loud.

Everyone turned to McGonagall, who took an anxious, deep breath.

"This year," she started to say, but was interrupted by a rude second-year boy.

"Hey! Who's the head boy?" called the young Slytherin.

"I'm getting to that!" McGonagall said irritably, straightening her hat before she continued.

"This year, as you should very well know, will be different.

He- Voldemort was, of course killed...of course you all know..."

She broke off with a sigh, still unsure of who to pick.

And then it started to dawn on her.

Just like the first rays of sun after stepping out of the shadows.

"The staff," she pretty much blamed them, "have not yet decided on the head boy."

Students all started to whisper to each other, the buzz growing louder every second.

"Students!" she exclaimed, and they all were silenced by her glare.

"Until we- er, they decide, we will have a substitute head boy..."

Who was she supposed to pick?

McGonagall cast her gaze into the tablesof Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw.

"...Draco Malfoy!" she announced. "Please stand!"

No one clapped as he did so, then quickly sat down.

Hermione felt an itch in her hands, as if she wanted to clap.

She was about to pass it off when it finally hit her.

Apparently light travels faster than sound, nowadays.

"No, wait!" she exclaimed, "_Who's _the head boy?"

Harry and Ron exchanged an awkward glance.

"It's Malfoy, isn't it?" she said quietly.

Their faces said it all, and no words were necessary.

This didn't talk them from speaking, though.

"Don't worry, 'Mione, just tell us if he does anything wrong!"

"Or if he tries something on you-"

"Harry!"

"What?"

"Hermione would hex him before he got within two feet of her!" exclaimed Ron.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "I bet she won't need your help at all, Ron!"

"Nice lot of friends you are!" Hermione said flatly, standing up.

"You going back to the tower now, 'Mione?" asked Ron.

"If you haven't heard, I go to the heads tower now," she replied coldly.

She srtarted to walk away, then went back to them.

"And I get live there. With _Malfoy_."

And only then did she leave, the stares of more than one boy on her back.


	3. The Cat

**Forgot to mention before, but J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.**

Hermione's trunk was already in the tower, she knew.

Along with Crookshanks, still stuck in his hated cage.

There was only the small problem that she couldn't get in.

She probably shouldn't have left before McGonagall could tell her the password.

Luckily she always brought a book with her, I think.

Hermione leaned against the door, turning pages and pages.

It seemed like she had only waited a minute, but it really took a half hour for him to come.

"Malfoy," she greeted him with a curt nod, her eyes still on her book.

"Do you realize, Granger, that the head's tower is at a _secret _location?"

"What are you talking about? This isn't it?" she asked.

"This is it," Malfoy assured her, "but no one else is supposed to _know _about the _secret _location?"

"Sorry-"

"Did anybody see you?" he asked angrily.

"No- I mean, I don't think so," she stuttered.

"You don't think so," he repeated flatly.

"Look, Malfoy-"

"Be more careful next time," he said. "Christmas lights," he added.

The door swung open for them, closing behind them when they had entered.

Malfoy was about to retire to his room when he saw the cat.

"What is _that_?" he asked incredulously.

Odd, he looked almost afraid of Crookshanks.

"That's Crookshanks," said Hermione, picking up the cat and holding him protectively.

"He looks creepy."

"So do you. All I ask is that you don't kill him."

"What about you?" he asked after a moment.

Hermione was silent for a few seconds, and when she spoke it came out as a whisper.

"That I wouldn't really mind."

Malfoy was still eyeing the cat suspiciously.

"You sure it won't claw off my face while I sleep?" he finally asked.

"Malfoy," said Hermione, almost amused-sounding. "Are you afraid of cats?"

He rolled his eyes at her conclusion, trying not to wonder if it was true.

"No, I just haven't been around many...cats, lately. Except for-"

"Professor McGonagall?" suggested Hermione, and he nodded. "Does she scare you too?"

"I'm not scared of cats!" he exclaimed, utterly exasperated.

"Would you mind holding him, then, while I put away my things?"

"Of course not!" he said, not realizing he was doing something that could be considered nice.

"Thank you," she replied, gently letting the cat into his hands.

Crookshanks seemed to like him; at least he wasn't getting his face clawed off.

Hermione thought this odd, because Crookshanks usually wasn't this nice, not even to Harry or Ron.

It was so peculiar, it was all so strange.

Well, it wasn't like it could get much stranger by now.

That was when Malfoy dropped the ginger cat.

The screech it gave out, thankfully, masked his own terrified squeak.

"Crookshanks!" called Hermione, bursting into the small common room.

"Where'd he go? What did you do?" she demanded, glaring at him.

Why was she so protective of a bloody cat? wondered Malfoy.

"He couldn't have gone far," he tried to assure her.

It better not have gone into his room.

He would most certainly _not _tolerate that.

What if it was in his room now, just waiting to kill him?

"You're right, he has to be in this room somewhere. You closed your door, right?" she asked him.

Malfoy was almost relaxed, almost feeling whole until the words hit him.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled as he glanced worridly at his open bedroom door.

Hermione's, of course, was closed.

Crookshanks was either in the common room or his room.

"Well, I'm sure he'll show up later. Unless..."

Hermione trailed off, narrowing her eyes at him.

"What?"

"Unless you killed him," she finished.

"I didn't kill it! Curiosity probably did!" he exclaimed.

"This isn't time for jokes, Malfoy."

"Can I sleep in your room tonight? You can have mine," he offered.

Hermione looked utterly confused by now.

"Why would you want to sleep in my room?" she asked.

"Because the cat's not there," blurted Malfoy.

"So you _are _afraid of cats," she said.

She was almost smiling for the first time in months.

Strange how _Malfoy_ had gotten it there, after all those months of depression.

Strange how _Malfoy _was cheering her up, and not even on purpose.

"Shut your trap, Granger. I just...do not wish to associate with such lowly creatures."

"Like me?" Hermione suggested, her voice cold. "You know what? Sleep on the ceiling tonight."

"Wha-"

"It's the only way you'll be safe from Crookshanks," she said mysteriously.

And then she left him standing there.

After her bedroom door was closed and locked, Hermione collapsed onto her bed.

It was nice to have a room to yourself, and some privacy.

First, she beat up one of her pillows, hitting it like it was Malfoy's face.

Next, she burst into quiet giggles.

She was still smiling to herself when she fell asleep.

**Just wanted to thank you people for reviews! I know this chapter was completely random, but it cheered me up as well; I hope you liked it.**


	4. The Waking

**I am convinced that I can do this, and I will. I will finish this story, and do it well. Thank you guys so much for reviewing, it's so kind and it makes my day!**

Hermione woke up early to do some extra studying for class, though she was intensely surprised when she entered the common room.

Malfoy was on the couch, his arms cradling Crookshanks like a baby.

She could swear that there were tears shining on his pale face.

Somehow, she didn't want to wake him or the sleeping cat.

Maybe because she didn't want to anger the two things that were pulling her out of her darkness.

She wondered if he had his own darkness.

Surely he did, after all that had happened.

Hermione set her book down gently on the table, then walked over to the couch.

Careful to stay clear of Malfoy, she knelt down and stroked Crookshank's fur.

The cat purred in its sleep, and she smiled a little before standing up.

If she was to take advantage of her good mood, she would have to do it now.

She went to her bedroom, pulling out of it two large trunks full of books.

She went over to the shelves and starting to place them there.

Hermione organized them by category, then paused.

She started putting the books on all different shelves.

It was relaxing, and by the time she had unpacked them all it was nearly time for breakfast.

She sat on a chair in the common room for a break, her head falling back and eyes closing...

Someone's screech woke her up, and she wasn't sure if it had been Malfoy or Crookshanks.

The two were backing away from each other, glaring.

"Honestly, Malfoy," sighed Hermione. "He's not going to kill you."

"I know, Granger, I know," he replied, backing into the opposite wall from the cat.

"See you later, Malfoy," she said, slinging her bookbag over her shoulder.

"You're leaving me alone with this monster- I mean...Just leave, Granger!" he exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes as she opened the door, and it gently shut behind her.

)_(

It was lunchtime, and Hermione was being bombarded with questions.

"Did he insult you? Did he hurt you?" asked Ron quickly.

Harry added, "Why are you smiling? Did he hex you?"

"Do you like him?" Ginny asked with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and then had to reply.

"No, he didn't insult me very much. And do you really think he'd hurt me?"

"Yes," said Ron and Harry at the same time.

"I'm smiling because I feel like it, and I wasn't hexed. As you can see, Malfoy is still alive."

Hermione glanced over to the Slytherin table, and saw him looking at her.

Could he hear from all the way over there, or had he already been staring?

"You didn't answer my question," protested Ginny.

"No, I do not _like _him, Ginny," chuckled Hermione.

"Why are you laughing? How is that funny?" asked Ron.

For some reason she was hesitant to tell them about Malfoy's cat-phobia.

"Because...there's whipped cream on your nose," she replied.

"But there's not even any-"

Ron touched his hand to his nose.

"What did you just do, 'Mione? I thought that Gamp's Law thing meant you couldn't conjure up food!" he said.

"I have very good aim with my summoning spells," Hermione replied with a smile.

She tucked her wand back into her robes.

"Good one, 'Mione," Ginny congratulated her with a high five.

"Hey, what about me?" complained Harry.

Ginny rolled her eyes playfully, hitting his hand extra hard in a high five.

"Where are you off to tomorrow?" Hermione asked them. "It's Saturday, you know."

"There's a trip to Hogsmeade, so I was thinking-" Ginny started.

Harry interrupted, "A brilliant idea, Ginny! The other teams will be at Hogsmeade, so...Ron?"

Ron finished, "We can practice for the Quidditch game on Sunday," in a flat tone.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Harry, a bit hurt-looking.

"Well, I was kind of planning on asking-" Ron started.

What was with all these interruptions, Hermione wondered as Lavender Brown called from down the table to him.

"Ron! Want to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"

Ron's eyes widened, thinking that that girl would never rest until she found her "true love."

Which most certainly wasn't him, of course.

But jealousy was known for working well, so he might as well answer.

"Sure!" he called back.

Strange, really, how Hermione didn't feel jealous at all.

In fact, she wasn't paying any attention to Ron at all.

Draco was signaling furiously to her; something was wrong.


	5. The Stalker

Hermione hastily excused herself from the table.

She didn't look anyone in the eye.

They all were terrible, she realized.

The other reason they'd talked to her was _Malfoy_.

Apparently _Malfoy_ was more interesting than her.

She'd show them, she'd definitely show them.

Because right now, she didn't want to die.

Not yet, anyway. What she wanted?

That was revenge, almost bloodthirsty revenge.

As she left the great hall, a voice knocked her out of her self-pity.

"That bloody cat won't stop following me!" exclaimed Malfoy angrily.

"Calm down, what cat are you talking about? There's no-"

Crookshanks padded over to them, nuzzling Malfoy's ankles and resting at his feet.

She almost wanted to giggle at his furious expression.

"You see what I mean, Granger? I'm used to girl-stalkers, but I am drawing the line at cats."

"Malfoy, he just likes you, that's all. He's really not that scary once you get to know him," she assured him.

"I'm not scared of it!" he hissed. "I just...I am drawing the line. Did you hear me-"

"Yes."

Malfoy groaned, then said stubbornly, "Drawing. The. Line."

"Fine, I'll try to get him away fom you," she sighed, reaching down.

But Crookshanks clung to Malfoy's ankle like he was a life-raft or something of the kind.

"Come on, Crookshanks, just let go of- Ow!" Hermione squeaked.

The angry cat had just scraped his claws against her own ankle, which was starting to bleed.

"Merlin!" said Malfoy, almost impressed with the cat he had once- and might still- fear.

"I'm going to the hospital wing, tell Professor Vector, will you?" she asked him, wincing.

"Of course," he nodded, then walked to his next class.

Crookshanks was still nipping at his heels, even when he started to run.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling as she entered the hospital wing a few minutes later.

Madam Pomfrey cleansed her wound and healed it so that you could barely see the scar.

It was still there, though.

Madam Pomfrey was about to dismiss her when she added, "Wait here."

She rushed into her office, then came back, holding a small white bottle.

"Would you give this to Mr. Malfoy? I noticed he had a few cuts too."

She handed the bottle Anti-Vi to Hermione, who looked at it with increasing interest.

"Dangerous sport, that Quidditch," muttered the healer, rushing the girl along, towards the exit.

"Yeah..." replied Hermione faintly, stuffing the bottle in her bookbag.

)_(

The next time she saw Malfoy was quite humorous, in my opinion, at least.

He was glaring at something behind him, Crookshanks, presumably.

He was leaving the boy's lavatory, and the cat was still following him.

There was a piece of toilet paper stuck on the cat's back, trailing behind him.

Malfoy whipped out his wand and pointed it at the cats.

A fierce snarl formed on his face, but Crookshanks just approached him.

"Protego," Hermione whispered, casting a magical shield around the cat.

I knew it, she thought. He's going to try and kill my cat.

"Granger, this cat is purebred, more than you'll ever be," said Malfoy to her.

"Thanks," she muttered sarcastically.

"But," he continued, "I think I prefer your company."

He must really hate that cat, she thought, almost smiling.

"I needn't say that I prefer him to you," she replied wryly.

"Predictable," Malfoy reasoned, his eyes sparkling a bit, just in the middle.

"Well, see you, Crookshanks. Malfoy."

She gave her cat a grin and him a swift nod.

"You're going to let it follow me?"

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly.

"You'll figure something out."

And maybe, maybe he would.


	6. The Fortune

**Note: The strange fortunes in this chapter have actually been found in Chinese fortune cookies, even the galactic wizard one, which I'm sure will make you laugh. Read on!**

Hermione was trying to ignore him, trying desperately.

But he had taken her cat from her, her only comfort in times like these.

The book she had been reading lay on the ground, for she had dropped it there.

And now? Now, Malfoy was humming.

It was better than singing, but _still_.

Maybe if she had her cat with her, maybe she could just ignore him.

But Crookshanks was in _his _lap, meowing along with _his _humming.

"Traitor," she muttered, standing up and walking over to the mini-kitchen.

It was practically empty, as she ate most of her meals in the great hall.

All there was, really, was what she had brought with her from home.

Which was a small box of Chinese fortune cookies.

Hermione opened up the box and cracked open a cookie, reading the fortune inside.

_A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you're in deep water._

She snorted, a bit too loud, and Malfoy's humming stopped for a moment.

"What are you going on about now, Mudbuddy?" he asked teasingly.

He wanted to see how she would react.

"What the- Nothing, nothing at all and I won't tell you," she replied.

She wanted to see if he would be curious.

One of Malfoy's eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch higher than before.

No other signs, though.

Except, then he saw the cookie in her hand, and he asked what it was.

"Muggle fortune cookie," she explained.

"Fortunes? Like they're supposed to tell the future or something?"

"Usually they just state the obvious."

He reached over and took a cookie, splitting it expertly in half.

He read it over, a half smile just hinted at in his eyes.

_Humor usually works at the moment of awkwardness._

I suppose that would come in handy sometime, someday.

"I'll try another one," he suggested after a moment.

It was almost funny, this one was.

_Someone with brown eyes admires you._

Hermione snickered quietly, tempted to roll her eyes.

Though she did avoid looking Malfoy in the eye when she spoke.

"My turn, I want a second one!" she protested, snatching up another one.

_A starship ride has been promised to you by the galactic wizard. _

She actually burst into laughter this time.

It came out in bursts, leaving her gasping for breath when she was done.

Her stomach still hurt a little.

Malfoy was smiling at her, a real, whole smile.

"Perhaps it's Potter," he suggested.

Hermione giggled a bit, noticing that it didn't hurt to laugh at Harry's expense.

They were just that separated, I suppose.

But it wasn't sad, because Harry and Ron just didn't light up to her anymore.

Crookshanks, maybe even Malfoy, were her lights out of the old darkness.

Christmas lights, even.

)_(

"Let me in, Granger! Unlock the door this instant!"

Hermione could hear him banging on the bathroom door and yelling at her.

She was taking in the bath, she wasn't just going to let him in.

"I'm almost done, I've just got to change."

"Let me in!" he howled, knocking on the door repeatedly.

"I'm almost done!" she called back.

It was of no use, though.

Two minutes of bickering later, she was opening the door.

But he wasn't there.

Hermione rounded the corner, her eyes narrowing.

She saw Malfoy zipping up his pants.

There was an acrid stench coming from the kitchen sink.

"You did not just-" she started to chastise him.

"Let me in next time, then," he protested.

"Go to another bathroom, then!" she exclaimed.

"The nearest one is a half mile by staircase."

"That's a guess, not a correct estimation."

"What?"

"It's approximately two thousand feet, which is less than a half mile," she stated.

"You're insane," he informed her.

Hermione stood up and gave a little bow.

"Thank you," she added sarcastically.

"Now, that's more like it."


	7. The HalfKiss

**Some of the quotes in here are from the Random Prompt Challenge by Zombie Reine, and there'll be more scattered in the next chapters. Just to let you know.**

Midnight, that was what time it was.

It was midnight when Hermione was woken up.

It was midnight, exactly-on-the-second midnight.

There was someone on top of her, and three guesses who?

Hermione didn't even open her eyes when she spoke.

"Get off me, Malfoy. Now."

He leaned in closer to her, his snowy hair hanging down and brushing her cheeks.

"Get any closer to me," she warned, "and I will hex off your-"

He absentmindedly wondered how she learned those kind of spells before he interrupted her.

"You probably want to know why I'm here," he said calmly.

"Actually, I just want you to get off of me," replied Hermione coolly.

And, okay, she was curious. It was just that her annoyance overrode that.

She was almost starting to get used to it, and her eyes drifted closed again.

"Baby," sighed Malfoy, "I would love to drizzle you in caramel."

Hermione sat up, or attempted to, anyway. He was too heavy.

She was kind of pressed up against him now.

"What. The. Hell, Malfoy!" she exclaimed.

Malfoy gave her a small smirk before continuing his line.

"But you're already sweet enough," he finished.

Hermione reached over, somehow, and took her wand from the nightstand.

She poked Malfoy in the forehead with it, glaring.

Malfoy simply lay on top of her, and then his watch beeped.

He immediately got off of her and sat on the edge of the bed.

She could still smell him on her clothes.

She couldn't exactly say it had been disgusting.

Her heart had beat like a hammer in her chest.

The blood was still pounding in her ears.

But it wasn't like she _liked _him.

"What was that about?" she asked after a moment.

"I had a dream about this, and I woke up just before I got to kiss you."

"So?"

"I wanted to see if dreams do come true."

He almost sounded serious, really.

"Where'd you hear that load of- er..."

Hermione trailed off awkwardly.

"Your Cinderella book. At first I thought it was about some plague of sickness, actually..."

"So you decided to try and _kiss _me? Kiss _me_, Malfoy? Are you mad?"

She was seriously considering this.

He didn't say anything, only stared.

And then he gave her a real, whole smile.

Not a smirk, not a small smile. A _real _one.

"I would rather be skinned alive and dipped in salt than kiss you."

That was what she informed him of.

Surely he already knew this, but the twinkling of his eyes froze.

You could barely catch it, even if you had been watching them with a magnifying glass.

Hermione, of course, didn't notice.

"I know."

His voice was completely devoid of any accents or pitch.

"Well, good night, then," she said.

"Good night...buddy."

She was about to fall asleep again when she added something.

"You'd better give me back my cat soon, Drake."

And then her eyes fluttered closed.

He watched her for a few moments, then leaned in.

He wasn't- okay, he usually was- the type to take advantage of situations like this.

But it didn't really count.

He gave her a peck on the cheek.

His lips lingered above the kissed spot for a few seconds.

Then he sighed, and Malfoy walked back to his bedroom.

He lay down on his own bed, and the cat immediately cuddled up next to him.

He put his arms lazily around Crookshanks.

He had hardly any hope left in anything.

Except Hermione.

All because of the last thing she said.

Sure, she had insulted and mocked him.

Sure, she hadn't kissed him

Sure, she had pulled her wand on him.

But he was starting to trust her.

It was stupid, he knew that everyone ended up betraying you sometime.

But he fell for it everytime.

It was all so sad, so bittersweet.

But that's what she had given him: hope.

Dreams came true, he was barely starting to believe it.

But time, that was what would be the cure for him.

_Drake..._

**Did you guys like the fluffiness of this chapter? I think it's my favorite chapter so far, though I think that about every new chapter I write. :)**


	8. The Plan

Saturday, that was the day.

The day that he would turn things around.

And by things, he meant them all- everything.

Not wanting a repeat of the previous night, Draco waited until seven that morning.

Saturday morning, if you want to be specific.

Hermione had slept in, because she usually woke up real early, at five or six.

He was like her, but woke up early every day, not just weekdays.

And he most certainly did not walk up early to _study_.

He preferred some time to simply reflect, relax and all that.

It had taken him a half hour to plan out his day, and then he had gotten ready.

After showering and getting dressed and fixing his mussed-up hair, he was ready.

Draco snuck into Hermione's room, searching through her bookbag.

He found what he was looking for in the side pocket- her bewitched muggle iPod.

Even he had to appreciate how cool it was to just drag your finger along the screen to play music.

He got to the favorites playlist, which consisted of a mere 238 songs.

He managed to locate the shuffle button, and on came a song with a nice beat.

**(A/N- The song is It Ends Tonight, The All-American Rejects, but it isn't really mentioned here, as this isn't a songfic)**

He leaned casually against the wall next to the open door, nodding his head along with the song.

"Mom?"

Hermione had turned her head slightly upward, but she made no effort to sit up.

In fact, her eyes were still drifted closed, fluttering a little, but no more.

Draco was silent, watching her, curious as to what would happen next.

He wondered if she would say anything else, something he shouldn't know.

And what would happen when she woke up?

Her mouth opened, then closed again. Then she spoke.

"I had a bad dream, Mom. The same one."

_I should leave now. No, I should wake her up. What about the plan?_

"He was yelling at me, and it happened all over again."

_What happened? Who is he?_

"It was for his own good, for both of you! I didn't want you to die!"

_Die? _Die_? Like, _die_? What secret has she been keeping hidden?_

"I loved him, I mean, he is- was- my dad! Of course I loved him!"

_So she has parent problems too, huh?_

_Small world._

Draco waited for her to say more, but she drifted off again, her eyes firmly closed.

The song ended, and he pressed pause and hastily stuffed the iPod back into her bag.

He should proceed with the plan, right?

It wasn't like her problems were going to get in the way of what he wanted?

Or _his_ parent problems. They were a minor thing to consider.

What could his father do, locked up in Azkaban like he was?

And Mother? Like he couldn't hide something from her at age seventeen.

He had had to learn that long ago. Maybe even too early.

Draco walked over to her, shaking her shoulders slightly.

Well, at least she didn't pull her wand on him again.

Rather, she simply stared at him and spoke calmly.

As if this was totally, completely, normal.

As if either of them could ever actually be _normal_.

"What are we doing today?" she asked.

But he refused to be fazed by her seemingly calm facade.

"I have my plans. Come on, get ready."

But all she did was stand up, moving him aside.

She pulled out her wand, and he nearly winced.

But it was pointed at herself, not him.

Was this a good or a bad thing? he wondered.

But she simply murmured a spell, and even magic-type weirdness was nothing on her.

He had never even heard of this spell before.

The first thing he noticed was her hair, morphing.

It went from quite bushy to really curly, smoothing itself out and settling nicely.

The next noticeable event was her clothes.

Her nightdress seemed to blur into jeans and a sweater, as if swept up in a tornado.

Any smudges or dirt on her skin disappeared, and he could smell her minty breath.

"Where are we off to today?" she asked pleasantly.

"I told you, I have a-"

"And where's Crookshanks? I haven't seen him since yesterday!"

She looked actually worried for the thing.

Though, admittedly, he was growing a little attached to the cat.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

It was an _animal_, for Merlin's sake, even more lowly than a house elf.

Though he had used to put muggle-borns in that same place.

Not her, though. Never her.

"Malfoy?"

His head snapped up and he quickly replied.

"You can see him later. Come with me."

And to his intense surprise, she followed.


	9. The Tree

"That's a tree," Hermione commented awkwardly.

After an hour of walking, she had built up some sort of excitement.

And if they were to stand by a tree, why not the one two hundred feet ago?

Why this tree? She felt like there must be something about it- anything.

Hermione slowly circled the tree, and on her third round she found it.

Engraved onto the lower bark of the tree was _DM + HG_.

She widened her eyes, backing up onto an uneven tree root.

She started to fall, but he easily caught her.

Draco's hands were still around her waist, supporting her back.

Hermione quickly escaped from his half-embrace, not looking him in the eye.

She stared at the tree, a ghost of a delightful smile on her lips.

"It reminds me of when I was little," she said quietly.

He was the perfect picture of an attentive listener, leaning on the tree.

His eyes remained on hers, and she continued to look at the tree branches.

Anything, everything but him. Anything...

"There was a park down the road, and my dad and I went one time."

He was still, ever still, watching her completely.

"The swing, the metal one, was broken. I was crying."

"That's not good," commented Draco.

"Dad took us to the store down the street, and we bought a swing and two ropes."

"Making a new one?" he suggested.

Hermione ignored him, or rather, attempted to do so.

"Yes, we made a new one and tied it to a tree...just like this one."

He was silent for a moment, wondering what a guy was supposed to say in response to this.

"Interesting," he commented.

"Interesting? That's all you can think of?" she asked incredulously.

"Well-" he started to say.

"You can carve our intials on a tree, but all you can actually _say _is interesting?"

"Hermione-"

"I liked it better when you called me Granger," she informed him.

"Why? It's practically an insult!" Draco protested.

Hermione said softly, "You were the only one who called me that."

"Well, Potter and Weasley, they don't just call you 'Mione all the time. Right?"

"Well, wrong, actually," she replied.

Draco shrugged, but she wanted to continue, to talk about it.

"They hardly ever talked to me, ever since the war. The summer. Something."

"That's rough," he commented.

"Yeah," agreed Hermione, "It is."

"You said 'talked,' though, so do they speak with you now?" asked Draco hopefully.

She gave out a bittersweet laugh, thinking of cruel jokes and the irony of this situation.

"They want to talk about _you_. Never me, but Quidditch. The war. You."

"I'll be your friend," he said to her. "How do you say it...we'll be BFFs!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but he was at least making her feel somewhat better.

Strange, that she was happier around Draco these days than her own...friends.

"Sure," she said sarcastically, giving him the most faking smile she'd ever given.

"You're lying," he informed her. "You look absolutely miserable. Just saying."

"I'm happy," she argued.

"Hermione," he said slowly, "What would I have to do to convince you that you are not happy?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, trying to ignore him.

But you can't really ignore someone when you're the only two people there.

She thought over his last question, then chuckled silently to herself.

"This is progress, you're happier. Laughing. Now...what's so funny?" Draco asked.

"To convince me that I'm sad...I used to always buy these muggle necklaces..."

"Were they cursed?" he asked, but she rolled her eyes in reply.

"Mood necklaces. If it turned blue, you were sad. Black was angry, and so on."

"Did they really work?"

"Of course not, they changed color depending on your skin's temperature. I knew that, but I still believed them."

"If you knew, then why..." Draco trailed off, feeling a little confused.

"Because I wanted to believe in them. Actually, there's this one spell I could try- it looked like it could work."

"What, the magical mood teller charm?" he teased her.

"Mood temperature charm," she corrected him, "and stop trying to cheer me up.

"Why not?"

"I'm not happy, therefore I don't want to be happy," Hermione informed him.

Draco raised an eyebrow, saying, "That makes no sense. At all. I thought you _were _happy."

"I changed my mind, as I'm being too annoyed to be happy. Besides, this is better. More..._me_."

"So you _want _to be sad?"

"That is correct."

"You're strange, you know that?" he said.

"I could say the same thing about you," she shot back.

Draco softened, then said, "What's up with you, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

I suppose it was her turn to be confused at that moment.

"You were all happy and...just vigorous, I guess, or trying to be, and now you're insisting that you're sad."

She avoided looking him in the eye, choosing to stare at the ground, rather than the tree.

The tree held too many bad memories. Good ones, yes, but mostly bad ones.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whispered.

It was strange, but also, and above all, it was the very truth that shook her to the core.


	10. The Talk

An hour later, Draco was pacing through the halls, trying to think right.

He couldn't think about Hermione, that was a bad idea.

And not nature, either, because that led to trees which led back to Hermione.

Not about heads' duties, which obviously led back to her.

He thought he might as well try to forget her, but it was impossible.

He set out for the Slytherin common room.

He needed guidance. Assurance. And...distraction, but he couldn't call it that.

It was more of a change in scenery, a visit with old friends who probably all hated him.

"Malfoy?"

Draco swiftly turned his head to see Blaise Zabini, his best friend from Slytherin, catching up with his pace.

"Hey, Zabini," he said to the Italian boy.

It reminded him of how Hermione liked it better when he called her Granger.

He wasn't going to be able to distract himself from that girl easily, wasn't he?

But Draco Malfoy was a fighter, and refused to give up that easily.

He must be going insane, first trying to kiss the girl, then trying to forget about.

Someday, he thought, he might have to choose between the two, but at least it wasn't now.

"Want to- what'd you do to your hair?" asked Blaise, looking almost worried about him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, reaching up to run his fingers through his pale locks.

It felt perfectly normal, well, kind of like a bird's feathers.

Kind of like that quill Hermione had used yesterday to do her Potions essay.

Draco crossed his arms, determined not to think about _her _anymore.

He wouldn't even think her name, in hopes that he might forget it.

"It looks..." Blaise struggled to think of an apt enough description, "Well, you didn't gel this morning! Or spray!"

So what if he hadn't used hair gel or hairspray in...a while?

Maybe he wanted to go with a natural, enviromental look.

"Yeah!" he said to himself, then told Blaise, "I'm going eco-friendly, Blaise. Natural."

Draco paused for a moment, then asked, "It looks okay, right?"

"...You should wear a hat. Hats are awesome," he was informed by his best friend.

"Is that your subtle way of insulting my amazing hair?"

He raised an eyebrow, daring the boy to challenge him.

Blaise just shrugged, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Anyways, want to play a game of Quidditch? For fun?"

"Well..." Draco trailed off, unsure of whether or not he'd fall off his broom thinking of _her_.

"How about for a few galleons-"

"No," he replied stubbornly.

"Okay..." Blaise tried to think of a good enough threat. "If you don't, I'll come after you with gel and spray!"

"Think about the environment!" Draco gasped mockingly.

"Since when do you think at all, Malfoy?"

Well, this was unusual. _Potter _picking a fight with _him_.

Usually it was vice versa, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd even mentioned, much less insulted Harry Potter.

He must really be going mad, if it came to things like this.

"Since when do you _talk_, Potter? About the same time I started to think...about plotting world domination!" he blurted out the end.

"Nice one. Oh, and Gryffindor's already called the Quidditch field! Bye!" Harry said quickly.

Draco watched him hastily run away, laughter spilling forth from his lips.

He turned to Blaise, then said, "Should we go after them and fight, or...not?"

"Malfoy! You can't possibly just give up!"

"Why not? We could always do the game later, or-"

"Fine," Blaise interrupted, eyeing his friend with clear suspicion. "But you're coming tomorrow, right?"

"Coming to what- Oh, the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch game!" he realized.

"Yes, that! I can't believe that you bloody forgot about it! Are you even coming!"

"Er...of course!"

"And cheering for Slytherin?" Blaise pressed, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

"Why wouldn't I?" Draco asked innocently, reprimanding himself when he started thinking about Hermione- her!

"You seem a bit, I don't know, kind of off. Like something's up."

"What?" he squeaked, then attempted to lower his voice. "I mean, no. Nothing's up. Nothing at all."

"You are seriously bad at lying. Well, see you tomorrow, then."

"Wait, I thought we were going to hang out!" Draco protested.

"Seems like you have too much on your mind for that," Blaise said sharply.

Paranoia hit him like some sort of lightning bolt or something- his best friend _knew._ He could just tell.

"Fine, then. Be that way," he found himself retorting, then walking away.

Draco clenched his fists at his sides, trying desperately, of course, not to think of that girl.

_That girl_, the one that kept intruding upon his mind.

_That girl_, the one that he just might be starting to like as even more than a friend.

If that was even possible for him.


	11. The Fight

Hermione sighed loudly, a bit dramatically, really.

But that was what you had to do if people were purposely ignoring you.

Draco flinched visibly, though he said nothing to her.

He didn't even turn his head from his essay that he was supposed to be writing.

He hadn't written a single word yet.

Fine, thought Hermione, I'll just let him brood about whatever it is by himself.

She left him in the small common room with only his thoughts to occupy himself.

An hour later, around nine, she came back out to the common room.

It was like she couldn't keep away from that blond boy.

His presence was familiar, like an old friend of some kind.

Not that Draco was replacing Harry or Ron, of course.

Well, not that much, anyway.

The Slytherin was slouched over his essay; he had fallen asleep.

Predictably, nothing was written on his parchemnt yet.

Hermione wondered what was bothering him.

She just couldn't stand him not talking to her, especially that she didn't even know why.

She was beginning to depend on him, just like Crookshanks.

And that might be a very bad thing.

Because things she tended to depend on nearly always broke underneath her.

And now she was there, having slipped through the cracks.

And no one else had even noticed that all she had left behind was a pale image of herself.

A ghost, a fake Hermione to take her place.

So now where was she?

Where was the real Hermione?

It certainly wasn't with the Gryffindors, nor any other houses.

Was she still a true Gryffindor, even?

Were she and Draco in some sort of separate house, a fifth house?

And then a rush of irritation, of anger and desperation rapidly flooded into her mind.

Hermione walked over to the armchair he was sleeping in and shoved him to the ground.

Draco's eyes flashed open, not groggy in the least, rather, he was entirely awake and alert.

"What the hell was that for, Hermione?" he demanded angrily.

She rolled her eyes, taking a step forward.

"For not talking to me, you prat! I'd rather you insult me than bloody _ignore _me!" she yelled fiercely.

He also stepped forward, slowly reaching out, as if to embrace her.

Hermione shoved him in the chest, breathing heavily.

He wouldn't have budged if he hadn't been so surprised.

Draco stared at the girl with disbelief and new eyes.

This girl wasn't tame and bookish as he had always thought...she was _mad_.

And something about that sort of attracted him to her somehow.

Too bad she was too furious to notice his new look of respect.

He looked at her like this from the wall that she had shoved him into.

His face instantly went from shocked to angry.

"_You_," Draco said, taking her wrists and making her take several steps back.

"You are terrible," he informed her, pinning her wrists to the opposite wall.

It took all of his strength to hold her there, but he didn't falter.

Of course, neither did she.

"Let me go, you arrogant idiot! I have to finish my assignments! My essays! And study!"

Draco grinned casually, a manic smile that would have sacred anyone else.

Anyone except her. Hermione.

"No, you don't. You're the one who came to me, remember?"

"It wasn't like that, and you know it." Hermione glared at him.

"You missed me, wanted to talk to me. I understand that I'm amazing, but you'll have to wait your turn."

"Who's in line, then?" she demanded. "As far as I've seen, nobody talks to you at all! You're an outcast!"

He let go of her wrists, but she stayed there and continued to frown.

"Last I heard, so were you," he said calmly.

And then he kissed her.

Draco leaned in close to Hermione and placed his lips lightly on her.

He stepped back just a few seconds later.

Hermione froze, touching her lips with her fingers.

She kept them there for a full minute, and it could have took just as much time for him to leave.

But he didn't leave, he stayed there and stared her in the eyes.

Instead, it was she who walked away.

But not before taking one of his hands in hers and gently squeezing it.

"How could I be an outcast if I have you?" he whispered to her retreating back.

She turned, her hair swishing around as she spun.

Hermione replied softly, "You don't have me."

"We have each other," retorted Draco.

"Maybe," she shrugged.

"Hermione, I like you," he told her.

"I...I don't know!" she cried, running from the room and slamming her bedroom door behind her.

An old poem he had written at the age of thirteen came to mind, particularly four lines.

_I don't know what to do_

_And I don't know what to say_

_If I don't know how to act_

_Then why am I in a play?_

And that was when a small envelope slipped under the door, one from Headmistress McGonagall herself.

Draco picked it up and opened it.

_There will be a vote among the students of all houses on who will be head boy for the rest of the year. Until then, Mr. Malfoy, you will be the temporary, possibly in the running. Other possible candidates are unknown at the current moment. I wish you the best of luck._

Draco let the note fall out of his hands and drift to the ground.

He paced over to the kitchen, snatching a glass out of one of the cabinets.

He threw it with all his anger at the wall, and it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Then he fled, just as she had.

**A/N- Hey pals, I just wanted to say that, since the last time I checked, thirty-one people had this story on story alert. If all of you just took a few seconds to write a review, the number of reviews for this story would double. When writers get reviews, even just one that says they like the story, just one kind word, it makes their day so much. Nobody I know knows about me being on here, and you are my only support. So, since you took at least five minutes to read this, take one more minute to review! Any opinions are okay, even flames or spelling corrections! Love you pals, please please review! :)**


	12. The Madness

Hermione woke up with a quiet shriek, her heart pounding heavily in her chest.

Was it just her dream, or had something just shattered?

Glass, something made of glass had just broken.

Just a moment later she heard a door open and slam shut just as quickly.

Curious, she got up out of her bed- it must have been near midnight- and picked up her wand.

Hermione walked out to the door that led to the hallway and murmured a quick charm.

The air around her swirled a bright blue, which meant she was calm and curious.

The air that was near the door was freshly red, standing for anger and passion.

A hint of light green- fear- was also there.

Hermione got rid of the spell and turned to see what must be a thousand pieces of glass on the kitchen floor.

"What the..." she murmured to herself, then, "Reparo."

The glass knit itself back together and landed cleanly on the counter.

And that was when she saw the note from McGonagall.

Hermione picked it up off the floor and read it, her eyes widening as she finished.

The slip of parchment, the discarded envelope, the broken shards of glass lying on the floor.

They were all mixed up in some kind of bizarre, twisted attempt by the professors of Hogwarts to...that was it.

That was the question- why did the staff want to get rid of Draco when he did his duties perfectly.

Because of the students' clear dislike of him? Unlikely.

Maybe they were hoping Harry would become head boy, though that couldn't be.

The new head boy would have to be from either Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin.

Of course, Hermione thought reassuringly to herself, Draco was still in the running.

And somewhere in her mind, a controversial spark grew until the words it contained spilled out of her mouth.

She whispered into the air as quiet as the wind.

"I'll fight for you, no matter what I have to do, or who I have to go against...

Not that I like you or something, of course."

* * *

Draco was reading one of her books; he had somehow managed to find the most horrifying and thrilling one on the shelf.

Of course, that would be an easy task, what with the way Hermione had organized it.

Not that ke knew much about that.

As far as he could see, the books weren't organized by author or title, not even by the color of the binding.

And Hermione Granger was definitely not the type of bookworm to just randomly place them.

Perhaps it was a sort of code, a message to someone else that he could decipher.

Or perhaps he was simply going mad.

After all, he was trying to figure out the pattern in which she had organized her books.

And had concluded that she was signaling to someone else- perhaps that someone else snuck into the dormitory at night!

Perhaps he snuck past Draco every night to go see Hermione.

Because it was not like it would be a girl, that wouldn't be some big secret.

He seriously must be going mad if he was thinking like this.

And what had ever happened to not thinking about that girl, anyway?

Draco had forgotten about how he was to forget her.

He _couldn't _forget her.

It was right about then when he glanced up at the clock of the small common room and swore quickly.

"Hermione!" he heard himself call, then wondered why he was calling her.

"Hermione!"

"Hermione!"

"Hermione!"

Her door finally slammed open, and her eyes were slightly blazing.

"Why is it that you just yelled my name a hundred times?" Hermione asked calmly, frowning and not looking him in the eye.

"Four," corrected Draco.

"Whatever."

"It's simple arithmancy, Hermione. Don't you know that?" he asked, mockingly surprised and slightly curious.

"I do, it's just that that doesn't matter. Who cares about numbers and counting?"

Now he was just confused, disbelieving and confused.

"But you're Hermione Granger! You love all classes, and you love to read and count and all of that! You're-"

"Unless I'm under the influence of the polyjuice potion," Hermione interjected.

"Honestly, you can't expect me to believe something so completely daft, Hermione."

She only raised her eyebrows at him and crossed her arms.

Why was she messing with his mind in this way? It was infuriating and...scary, almost!

"Why did you call her? Why did you call Hermione? She wants to know," said the girl.

"But you _are _Hermione! And I wanted to take you to the Quidditch game, okay?"

"Gryffindor verses Slytherin? And how do you think that's going to work out?"

"What?" he asked.

"You're going to need votes for yourself, from the students, if you want to remain head boy. Hermione wants to help you."

"Yeah...you are really creeping me out now, Hermione..." Draco backed away slowly.

The girl in front of him that looked so much like Hermione did look rather ghostly.

There was the violet circles under her eyes, the pale, ivory skin from staying inside too much, the frailness of her altogether.

He almost wanted to reach out and take her hand to make sure she was still human.

He really must be going mad.

And did he have to keep telling that to himself? What was that, the hundredth time?

Actually, he thought back, it must have been the third.

And then the fourth:

Perhaps thinking of madness makes me go mad even faster! he thought.

"So how about it, Draco? Just stay behind and...relax," the girl leaned in close and breathed in his ear.

"I didn't really want to go either," Draco replied quickly, trying not to fear who he thought was Hermione.

And actually was.


	13. The Plot

_What am I doing?_

_Who am I?_

_Why?_

_What is this..._

_What am I doing?_

"_What _am I _doing_?" Hermione said out loud, her thoughts bursting to the surface of her mind finally.

Draco just looked at her, kind of freaked out-looking.

Not that she blamed him for that.

"I'm sorry, I was just being a little weird," she said to him, trying to forget whatever the heck had just happened, trying to think that it had never happened. "We really should go to the game, you'll need votes and all that if you want to win."

"Oh... So you saw the note?" Draco questioned her.

"And the glass," she added. "Next time, clean it up yourself. I'm not your maid, you know."

"I'm sorry," he answered. "Hey... I'm apologizing! To you!"

"Is that so strange? Compared to everything else that's happened?"

"No, not really. But it's kind of funny, in a weird way," Draco replied.

"Yes, well, whatever. I'm not the one who has a fear of _cats_."

"I do not..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, staring at him, daring him to finish.

"Okay, I'm a little cat-phobic. So what? At least I'm not some psycho-freak who isn't sure whether or not she's herself half the time!" he blurted out abruptly.

Then he looked up at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't... This is just so strange! I can't... Isn't this weird?"

"It's fine," she said shortly.

And then she laughed.

It was funny, their whole situation was _so funny_, wasn't it?

Hermione collapsed on the couch and laughed some more, then sighed.

"I like this," she said.

"What?" Draco looked at her oddly.

"I like how this is, this whole set-up. I don't want it to change. It's crazy- well, not really, anymore- but I don't want you to be replaced. I don't want you to leave. I like you here."

He was still staring at her.

"I'll put in a word with Professor McGonagall, maybe I can convince her to just let you stay on. Or at least for you to... I don't know. Something."

"Really?" Draco managed to say after a few moments.

"Really."

"So we _don't _have to drag ourselves all the way to the door, down the hall, outside, to the game, just to get in some useless argument about who should have won?" he said, almost excitedly.

"I guess so," Hermione answered with a small smile.

"What do you want to do now, then?" She could tell by the look on his face just what _he _wanted to do, so she chose the opposite.

"We could drag ourselves _all the way outside_ to take Crookshanks for a walk," she suggested brightly.

"Or we could lock him in your room and throw away the key!" Draco added.

"Or we could lock _you_ in _your _room and throw away the key."

"You really like that cat, don't you?"

"Of course I do! I just don't see why anybody would be afraid of him! I mean, he's a fluffy little creature of superior cuteness and intellect," Hermione informed him.

"I say he's a fluffy little creature that's plotting to take over the world as soon as we fall asleep," Draco answered persistently.

"I thought that was the Slytherins that were doing that," she joked.

Draco frowned. "They are. But they never get far because they start arguing and fighting with each other... Huh."

"What?"

"If _we_ wanted to take over the world, do you think we could?"

Hermione thought for a minute. "Well, with my and my cat's superior intellect and your... cunningness? Whatever you have. With both, I think it'd go pretty well."

"Okay, so it's settled. We'll not go to the game and instead plot world domination with your cat. Shall I go get us a map?" Draco asked her.

"No... watch this."

"Huh?"

"Just watch."

So he watched as Hermione pointed her wand at the one blank wall in their tower, and it turned into a canvas of swirling colors and lines and letters. After a minute they all settled into a world map.

"Wicked," he breathed.

"I know, right?" Hermione actually grinned. "Okay," she said to the map, "focus on Britain."

The map zoomed in and did what she said.

"Again, _wicked_."

"Okay, so if we start in Britain, first we'd have to take one of the bigger cities, so, London..." Hermione started to say.

Then Crookshanks appeared from behind the couch, and he went to Hermione. Her eyes lit up when he ignored Draco and rested at her feet in a ball of soft fur.

Draco tried not to take a step back, but he did wish he were invisible to the cat.

And so the two- well, three, I should say- plotted and argued and laughed together, and all was well.

All was well.

Then the golden snitch burst through their window and they both jumped to their feet in alarm.


End file.
